


What to do About It

by CoffeeAndDreams



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Insomnia, Nightmares, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndDreams/pseuds/CoffeeAndDreams
Summary: That's when the nightmare started—the same one over and over again. The life bleeding out of dear Marta while he stood by useless and frozen in place. After several nights of waking up gasping for breath with his heartbeat thundering in his ears, insomnia began to rear its ugly head.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Comments: 28
Kudos: 250





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how many chapters this will be.

This was really starting to get ridiculous, Benoit thought as he sat up in bed struggling to read a novel. He was tired—exhausted really. His eyelids were heavy, and it was nearly impossible to focus on the words on the page. He’s pretty sure he’s read the same paragraph at least three times now. He could put the novel down and try to sleep, but he knew one of two things would happen. Best case scenario, he’d get an hour or two of sleep before jolting awake with a nightmare, or the insomnia that has plagued him for weeks would leave him tossing and turning until the sun came up. Neither were appealing options.

It had started a few weeks after the whole Thrombey affair. He’d been assisting the delightful Miss Marta Cabrera in settling into her life—everything from changing the locks on every door and window, to interviewing the very best lawyers to deal with her mother’s citizenship. Everything had been fine, or so he thought. One unremarkable Saturday, Benoit was walking past the library and his eyes settled on Harlan’s ridiculous chair ringed with knives like some kind of modern-day Game of Thrones prop. It hit him like a ton of bricks: his theatrics nearly got Marta killed. Catching Ransom would have amounted to a hill of beans if it had cost that young woman her life.

That was when the nightmare started—the same one over and over again. The life bleeding out of dear Marta while he stood by useless and frozen in place. After several nights of waking up gasping for breath with his heartbeat thundering in his ears, insomnia began to rear its ugly head. He had tried everything from bourbon to herbal tea, long walks to hot showers. Nothing seemed to help. It puzzled Benoit, to be honest. He’d worked hundreds of cases during his long career and had seen things far worse than Marta’s near stabbing.

“There’s the rub,” he said to himself. That was the only thing different in the equation: that Miss Cabrera had been the target of the violence. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, that sweet, selfless nurse had gotten under his skin. From their first conversation he felt like he had to protect her from the nest of vipers otherwise known as the Thrombeys. He nearly failed her in the most severe way possible. Perhaps it was guilt that had him still hovering around her like a dragonfly on a warm Savannah night. It was unusual for him to blur the line between the professional and the personal the way he had with Marta. On quiet nights, when he was a cigar and a drink or two into things, Benoit had to admit that his relationship with Marta was more personal than professional at this point. At first, he had used his experience as an excuse to stay in regular contact with her. But as Marta began to find her footing, those excuses began to dwindle, and their relationship shifted to a more friendly acquaintance.

It seems that transition coincided with the nightmare and insomnia. A troubling development indeed. Benoit yawned and ran a hand over his face. He threw back his quilt and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d get no sleep and it was close enough to 5am that he could start his day. His muscles protested the lack of rest and he stretched his arms up over his head. The situation was untenable. That much was clear, but what to do about it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text messages are in bold.

Outside of Boston, Marta was sitting up in the early morning hours as well. She had taken her coffee out to the second floor balcony where she could watch the sunrise. It was still chilly so she was wrapped up in the blanket from her bed, but it was her favorite time of day in her favorite place on the whole property. It had take a while, but the giant house was starting to feel a little more like home and these quiet mornings were a perfect reminder of all that she had to be grateful for. Her cell phone vibrated and she glanced down at the screen to see Benoit Blanc's name come up. Odd. He never sent text messages. She swiped her finger across the screen.

**Good morning. Hope you're doing well today.** \--B

**Are you okay?** she immediately sent back.

**Of course.**

**You hate texting. What's wrong?**

**Nothing's wrong. Just thought I'd try and catch up with modern trends.**

That did it. Not only did Benoit Blanc generally hate modern trends, he certainly wasn't the type to study up on them. Marta dialed his number. It rang five times before he answered, and she could picture him pacing back and forth trying to decide if he was going to accept her call. 

"Good morning, Miss Cabrera," he said, doing his best to sound more chipper than he felt. "I apologize for worrying you. I was simply trying to be non-intrusive this morning."

"You're lucky you don't share my issue with lying, or you'd be sick right about now" she said. Her voice was teasing, but Marta knew something was wrong. Benoit chuckled.

"You're right. As usual."

"So what's wrong?" she asked.

"It's nothing to trouble yourself over."

"That's not really an answer."

"I've been having trouble sleeping is all," he said vaguely. "I think it's catching up with me a bit." Marta frowned and shifted the phone to her other ear.

"Is that unusual for you?"

"I have encountered bouts of insomnia every now and again. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"How long has it been going on this time?" Marta asked, her tone indicating that she thought it was very much something to be concerned about.

“Not too long…I’m—”

“Benoit, please don’t lie to me.” Her voice was quiet but very serious. Blanc frowned—this wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. He was hoping for just a little reassurance that Marta was safe and sound, but she’d seen right through him.

“Little over a month,” he admitted.

“Oh, Benoit,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about, dear girl.”

“Still, you must be exhausted,” she said.

“Well, I can’t argue with you there.” He’d been pacing back and forth across the length of his living room while they’d been talking, but he finally dropped onto his sofa with a sigh. Marta took a sip of her coffee and made a decision.

“It sounds like you need a change of scenery,” she said.

“I’m not retiring to Florida—not that old yet.”

“Not Florida, here. I want you to pack a bag and come out to the house for a while.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You’re not imposing; I’m offering.” Marta knew a change of tactic was required. “In fact, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, but I’d welcome the company. I’ve got some things I want to show you on the property. Turns out there’s a second lake.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope. Had a walking trail cleared out in the woods and found it. I’ve put in some gardens and really worked on making the grounds a little less…”

“Intense?”

“Creepy,” she corrected. Benoit chuckled and Marta smiled. “Come give me your advice on a few of my projects and walk around outside with me for a few days. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“That it has,” he agreed.

“Great. I’ll expect you in time for dinner tonight.”

They hung up and Marta cradled her coffee mug in her hands. Getting Benoit out to the house would be one thing; getting him to tell her what was bothering him would be something else altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta's been busy, Benoit arrives at the house and gets some much needed TLC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll circle back and fix typos before I complete the story. Hope they're not too distracting. I finally have an end-game in mind for this story.

Benoit would like to think that if he hadn’t been terribly sleep deprived, Marta might not have been able to so thoroughly manipulate him into doing what she wanted. In truth, he probably would have given in anyway, but perhaps he’d at least have seen it coming instead of being blindsided by how efficiently she flipped the script on him.

Regardless, Benoit found himself in the back of a cab after taking the train to Boston. He didn’t quite trust himself behind the wheel of a car in his current state. In fact, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that he’d nodded off in the cab once or twice on the way out to the house. When the car pulled up in front of the mansion, Benoit smiled despite his fatigue. Marta certainly had been busy—the landscaping leading up to the house was a lush blanket of flowering plants and grasses. Admittedly, the first time he’d been there had been in winter when not much of anything was growing, but he doubted the house ever looked so alive and cheerful even in the heart of summer. The front door opened as he came up the steps and he smiled when he caught sight of Miss Marta Cabrera.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, putting his bag down on the floor and opening his arms for a hug. She grinned and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze before leaning back and looking him over with a critical eye.

“Are your eyes actually sore?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t go worrying yourself over me already,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Your front yard is positively stunning.”

“Thank you,” Marta said. “It’s been a wonderful project. Makes it feel more like home and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.”

“You didn’t do all this planting on your own, now did you?” he asked.

“No. I broke down and hired a landscaping company to do the big stuff, but I asked them to leave the front of the beds for me to plant. I like getting my hands dirty.”

“That’s an excellent compromise.”

Marta smiled. It really had been too long since she’d seen Benoit. She wasn’t exactly sure when he changed from Private Investigator Blanc into her friend Benoit, but she supposed it was gradual—slow and easy like that southern drawl of his that she loved so much. But today, he didn’t seem to resemble either version of the man she knew: it was like he was carrying an invisible weight around his neck. Whatever was keeping him from sleep was clearly causing him stress in his waking hours as well. Marta put her hands on her hips,

“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “Because I’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon.” He grabbed his bag and followed her into the house. “And before you say anything,” she added, catching sight of his face, “I didn’t do go overboard on your account. I happen to like cooking and find it enjoyable to make food for people I care about.” He raised his hands in surrender. They paused at the foot of the stairs. “You remember Joni’s old room, right? I thought you might be comfortable there,” Marta said.

“That’ll be lovely. Thank you very much for being such an excellent hostess.”

“You want to settle in and then come to the kitchen?” she asked.

“Sounds perfect. Thank you.” Marta patted his arm and left him to take his bag upstairs. Benoit went up the stairs, hitting the creaky one as usual, and found the door to his appointed bedroom open. Marta’s fingerprints were on this space as well. It still had all the heavy, traditional furniture, but the textiles were light and airy. The curtains were drawn back and he was able to see the setting sun off to the west. He put his bag down on the foot of the bed and ran his hand over the comforter before sitting down. It was, perhaps, the nicest bed he’d ever felt—the mattress firm but covered with a thick top layer of down. Cool, crisp sheets, and three blankets of different weight folded at the foot. There were at least six pillows up at the headboard. Benoit thought that maybe, just maybe, in this incredible bed with Marta’s room just down the hall, maybe he could get some sleep.

“You okay up there?” Marta called up the stairs. How long had he been sitting there? Benoit took his jacket off and left the room.

“Sorry about that. I got lost thinking about how many angels you had to pluck in order to make that incredible bed,” he said. If he wasn’t mistaken, she blushed.

“Well, I wanted to make sure you had the most comfortable space possible. You know…since you’re having trouble sleeping.” He put a hand over his chest.

“My dear girl, you are, as always, too kind,” he said.

“No such thing, Benoit.”

He felt a little bubble of warmth in the center of his chest. From the minute he saw her at the front door, he felt the knot of anxiety loosen a little. Just seeing her alive and well seemed to dull some of the sharp edges of his nightmares. Marta tilted her head as she looked at him.

“Do you want to lay down right now?” she asked. “You look dead on your feet.”

“Oh, surely I don’t look that bad,” he teased. “Plus, I can’t wait to try some of whatever is making this house smell so delicious.”

“I cannot believe you cooked all this,” he said, pushing back his plate after his second serving of everything.

“It was fun,” Marta said. “I’d never made most of this stuff before.”

Benoit wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a veritable buffet of southern comfort foods. Catfish, fried green tomatoes, black eyed peas, and “biscuits that could give my momma’s a run for her money,” he’d said.

He was speechless when he came into the kitchen and saw what she’d been up to all day.

“Marta, I…” he trailed off, a little overwhelmed by her efforts. Marta worried the hem of her sweater.

“Don’t get too excited yet—you haven’t tried it. And I have no idea what kind of wine goes with catfish, so I have four different options. I figured you could choose which one you thought was best. Or there might be something better down in the cellar. I could go grab a couple more choices, or if your wanted to look that’s fine.”

She was nervous, and though he wasn’t sure why, he was sure it was utterly charming.

“Dear girl, I can assure you, based on the smell alone that the food is incredible. Any wine will be lovely, but a sauvignon blanc or light chardonnay will best compliment this incredible feast you’ve so lovingly prepared,” he said.

That was over an hour ago. Dinner had been delicious, and Benoit had regaled her with tales of various New Years Days in the south, where black eyed peas were the only safeguard against a year of bad luck. Marta got up and put water on for tea, then got two clean plates from the cupboard.

“I hope you’re not too full for dessert,” she said.

“A good southern gentleman never declines something sweet.”

She went to the oven and took out a heavy cake pan. She set it on the marble kitchen island and Benoit cocked his head.

“Marta Cabrera, did you make cobbler?” he asked.

“Peach cobbler,” she said with a smile.

Blanc pretended to faint in his chair and Marta giggled.

“I take it, I chose widely?”

“Peach cobbler? I can barely contain my glee.”

It was the closest his eyes had come to looking like normal since he arrived, and it made her heart happy. The minute she hung up after their phone call that morning, Marta had gotten to work trying to put together any and everything that might put Benoit at ease. She had been worried she was overdoing it until she saw the state he was in when he got to the house. The man was long overdue from some TLC. Marta had a glint in her eye and grabbed two clean forks from the drawer. She left the plates where they were and put the entire cobbler down on the table between the two of them. He took a fork from her outstretched hand and laughed—genuinely laughed—when she dug into the dessert. If he managed to sleep that night, Benoit hoped he would dream of Marta Cabrera with sugared peach juice in the corner of her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benoit tries to sleep. It doesn't go well.

The wine, incredible food, and good company had left Benoit feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. It was still fairly early, but he couldn’t hold back a yawn, turning his head from the table and covering his mouth with his hand.

“Forgive me, Marta,” he said.

“You’re tired—don’t apologize,” Marta said. “Do you need anything else before you go to bed?” She got up and began clearing the table. Benoit joined her and went to the sink with the intention of washing dishes, but she flipped a towel at his arm. “Absolutely not. You’re a guest.”

“Marta—”

“I’m just going to throw everything in the dishwasher anyway.”

He was all primed to argue, but another yawn shook free. Marta smiled and got him a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“My room is just across the hall. If you need anything at all, come get me—even if it’s just company in the middle of the night. I promise I won’t spend more than ten minutes on dishes and then I’ll turn in too.” He let his shoulders slump and conceded defeat.

“Alright, alright. Your house, your rules, after all,” he said with a wink. He took a couple steps towards her and Marta felt her rate speed up a little. “Thank you for a truly wonderful evening. You thought of everything and I’m…well, I’m touched to be perfectly honest.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure.” She gave him a quick hug. “I really hope you’re able to sleep tonight.”

“You’ve significantly upped the odds. Goodnight Marta.” He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead before heading up to his room.

“Benoit, wake up!” Marta shook his shoulders and tried to rouse him. It was a little after 3am when she heard him shout. When he didn’t answer the door, she let herself in and found Benoit in the middle of a nightmare. His face was twisted in discomfort, blankets tangled around his legs, and his forehead was sweaty. He came to with a gasp and wide, frightened eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Marta whispered. She swallowed a lump in her throat and fought back tears. Benoit looked…well, he looked broken. This man who had guided her through one of the worst periods of her life like it was nothing, was close to a panic and she wasn’t sure how help. Their situations were always reversed—him looking after her as she weathered some sort of crisis. Benoit sat up on the side of his bed and rested his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Marta gingerly sat down next to him and placed a hand between his shoulder blades, testing the waters. He flinched but Marta spoke gently.

“Deep breaths. You’re okay…I’m right here with you.” She kept repeating reassurances, but he stayed hunched over, hiding his face. “Sit up—you’ll hyperventilate like that,” she said. He straightened up and his breath hitched; Marta could see tears in his eyes. “Oh, Benoit,” she sighed and wrapped her arms around him in a sideways hug. “No wonder you haven’t been sleeping.” She could feel him shaking, but it was slowly getting better. Marta leaned her forehead against his shoulder and took a deep breath, fully prepared to sit with him for as long as it took for him to calm down.

It had been so real this time. In his dream, by the time he made it to Marta, her breathing was already labored, the blood spreading rapidly around her body. He had tried to stop the bleeding, pressing his hands against the wound but it only seemed to make things worse. He had watched in horror as her breathing ceased, eyes forever stuck open and terrified. He thought seeing her would make it better, but it had made it infinitely worse by reminding him just how precious the young woman was to him. After only tossing and turning for an hour or so, he was delighted to feel himself drifting off to sleep, but his peace hadn’t lasted long. And now here she was, awake in the middle of the night, trying to chase away his bad dreams. Benoit forced air into his lungs and focused on the warm weight of her arms, the pressure of her head on his shoulder. Warm, wonderful, alive and breathing Marta. He lifted a hand and squeezed the forearm that was across his chest.

“Doing better?” she asked.

“Think so.”

She let go of him and he instantly missed the contact.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I’ve kept you up long enough as it is,” he said. Marta wasn’t surprised by his answer, and decided it wasn’t the time to push him. She was surprised when he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Me? Of course. Why?”

Benoit started to say something, but changed his mind shook his head muttering “It’s nothing,” under his breath. He rubbed a hand over his bloodshot eyes and scratched at the stubble along his chin.

“Why not try to get a few more hours sleep?” she offered, bumping his shoulders with hers. While a little uneasy about going back to sleep, he nodded and stood up to straighten the tangled bedding. “I got it,” Marta said. “Why don’t you go splash some cool water on your face, hm?” She was in nurse mode now, and he thought it best to listen.

When he came back from the bathroom, his bed was reset, and he laid back down. He raised an eyebrow when she tugged the blanket up to his shoulders and then sat down at the head of the bed on top of the covers. She pulled her legs up underneath her and leaned against the headboard.

“Okay if I stay for a few minutes?” she asked. He nodded and she turned off the bedside lamp throwing the room into near total darkness. Marta could still see the whites of his eyes and knew those eyes were still trained on her. She rested a hand on his forehead. “I’m right her. Close your eyes, Benoit,” she whispered. 

The sun was up the next time he opened his eyes. Marta was on his left, sound asleep still sitting up against the headboard. He eased himself out of bed and then slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, sliding her down onto the bed properly and covering her up. No reason they both needed to be sleep deprived. In the light of day, Benoit was feeling reasonably humiliated about the disruption he’d caused that night. It was likely (and perfectly reasonable, he forced to admit) that Marta was going to want some answers. Benoit sighed—he was going to need a pot of very strong coffee.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benoit and Marta share a quiet morning at the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this story. I'm so glad people are enjoying it. Just one more chapter after this.

Marta followed the smell of coffee downstairs and found Benoit sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper, a steaming mug in easy reach. He’d stayed at the house before, but he’d never come down to the kitchen still in his pajamas. Of course, she’d been asleep in his bed and, knowing him, he wouldn’t have wanted to wake her by digging around for his clothes. She liked the look of Benoit Blanc in sweatpants and a T-shirt drinking coffee in her kitchen—he hadn’t shaved yet, and his glasses had slipped down his nose a bit as he was engrossed in the morning paper.

Ever the private investigator, Benoit felt himself being watched and flicked his eyes towards the doorway, smiling at the sight that met him.

“Good mornin’, Marta.” She left the kitchen doorway and grabbed her trademark coffee mug off the counter before joining him at the table.

“Good morning to you,” she said. “Thanks for making coffee.”

“I’m surprised I was able to get that contraption to work without setting the house on fire,” he said. It was true, Marta had inherited a very high-end coffee machine with a surprising number of buttons. “I’d ask how you slept, but the answer is a foregone conclusion given the ruckus I caused in the middle of the night, for which I am deeply sorry,” he said. Marta smiled—she knew he’d be beating himself up over that.

“It’s not a big deal, Benoit,” she said, filling her mug.

“Forgive me if I don’t share the sentiment.”

“Can I ask you something?”

 _Here we go_ , he thought. Benoit had been dreading this moment since he woke up, but Marta was entitled to answers…no matter how reluctant he was to discuss his personal issues.

“You can ask me anything, Marta,” he said a great deal calmer than he felt. Marta ran a finger around the rim of her coffee mug.

“You remember the first week I had to testify at Ransom’s trial?” she asked.

“Not an easy to forget.”

“My mom, my sister, my friends were all so worried about me. They just constantly pressured me to talk about it, or cry, and whatever they thought would help when all I wanted to do was hide. I know they were trying to be helpful in their own way and I was a complete wreck.”

“You were magnificent,” he said, chiding her.

“I was not,” she said with a laugh. “But, do remember what you told me?” Benoit’s brow furrowed.

“Oh, knowing me, I said a great many things.”

“We were sitting in the lobby of the courthouse waiting for the day to convene. You held your hand out and said that when I wanted to talk you’d listen anytime, day or night, but until I was ready, you would take my hand and silently walk the road with me.”

Benoit was not an easily embarrassed man, but he was feeling very self-conscious under Marta’s gaze.

“That was an uncharacteristically well-articulated bit of comfort.” It was a weak joke, but she smiled anyway. Marta extended her arm and laid her hand palm up in front of him.

“I’ll listen when you’re ready, but in the meantime…”

Slowly, he let his hand sink down into hers, and Marta brushed her thumb over the top of his hand. Despite being calloused and cold, she loved the way it felt to have his hand in hers. Benoit closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the moment. When he finally looked over at her, there was no pity in her eyes (and really, there was nothing more pathetic than receiving pity from a beautiful young women). She smiled and gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go.

“How about some breakfast and then I show you around outside?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

Marta got up and went to the pantry. She took something out and held it behind her back.

“It’s not fancy, but I thought it was the perfect thing,” she said, holding a box of donut holes out to him. Benoit threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, my dear girl—you are too much!”

After they finished breakfast and got dressed, Marta took Benoit out to the back of the property. Like the front, there were new elevated beds overflowing with plants and flowers. Paved walkways threaded through the area it seemed she’d purchased an entire forest of ornamental trees. It pleased Benoit to see her getting more comfortable using her new wealth to do things that would improve her life. The estate, while grand, had a certain stuffiness to it that Marta seemed determined to banish one rose bush at a time.

“I see you relocated the menagerie,” he said, nodding towards the statue of the open-mouthed hippo he’d seen on his first trip out to the mansion.

“Well, it turns out it’s difficult to enjoy walking through the woods with those creepy statues around every turn. I love Harlan, but his dedication to making the real world mirror his novels was a bit over the top for me,” Marta said.

“He certainly had a flair for the dramatic.”

“And that’s coming from you!” Marta said, earning her a laugh from the older man.

Despite still being exhausted, Benoit loved every minute of his tour. It pleased him to no end to see Marta so at ease in this beautiful outdoor space. She pointed out where she planned to plant a vegetable garden in the summer and a failed attempt to get a cherry tree to take. The day warmed up nicely once the early morning fog burned off, and a gentle breeze made things absolutely idyllic. It wasn’t until he felt Marta take his hand that it occurred to Benoit that he might have let his mind wander a bit to far.

“Sorry, Marta. I’m afraid I’ve only got one oar in the water today.”

“Not sure if I should be impressed or worried that I know exactly what that means,” she said.

“Bit of both wouldn’t hurt. What did I miss while my mind was wanderin’ like an untrained puppy?”

“I thought we could save the walk down to the lake until later. Maybe head back up to the house, take a nap before lunch?”

“You tired?” he asked. Marta rolled her eyes.

“You’re impossible, Benoit.” He chuckled and brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“Oh, you’re good to humor to old man, Marta. Alright, let’s go back in and I’ll lay down for a spell and see what happens.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benoit finally admits what's bothering him, Marta reveals some new information, and both feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! This is the first story of real length I've posted here and I had a lot of fun writing it. My sincere thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos; it was wonderful to know people enjoyed it. I'm sure I'll write more about this fandom in the future.

It tuned out, “what happens” was Benoit having another vivid nightmare a half hour into his nap, crying out Marta’s name, and the woman in question having to shake him awake again. She was kneeling on the mattress by his head when his eyes shot open. This time, thanks to the daylight, he was able to see the profound worry on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he only sounded partially aware.

“It’s okay,” she said with a lot more confidence than she obviously felt. Marta pressed her hand firmly to his forehead, the sensation helping ground him in the world of wakefulness. She also exaggerated her own breathing to give him something to mimic.

He couldn’t continue like this. If he was clear about nothing else, Benoit was clear that this pattern of minimal sleep and nightmares was untenable. It had now exceeded, in both length and severity, any previous record for insomnia he’d ever set. And as much as he was enjoying his waking hours at Marta’s house, the guilt was clearly getting worse and wrecking any attempt at sleep. Benoit swallowed his pride and held out his hand; Marta didn’t hesitate to take it. He took a deep breath and tilted his head to look at her.

“Don’t suppose we could talk?” he asked.

“Of course. How about some tea? Or something stronger?”

He squeezed her hand before letting go and he sat up in the bed.

“Tea is perfect. Meet you downstairs in a few?” She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. 

He felt like he was going to confession, but ignoring things hadn’t worked, and visiting Marta hadn’t worked, so he was out of options. He heard her humming a tune he was unfamiliar with in the kitchen, and he settled on the living room sofa to wait for her. When she came in, Marta had a mug of tea in each hand and she sat down close to him, pulling her legs up under her.

“So…” she prompted with a smile. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair—a nervous habit she wasn’t sure he was aware of.

“Well, there has been a particularly nasty bee in my mental bonnet for the last month or so, and it is directly related to the whole affair with Harlan’s death and the resulting family drama.”

“Okay.”

He got up and paced in front of her—exhausted or not, there was too much nervous energy simmering in his veins.

“Marta, I pride myself on my objectivity.” She nodded. “But with Harlan’s case, I made some truly inexcusable mistakes.” Marta looked confused—she thought he’d been extraordinary, but she didn’t want to interrupt. “I was suspicious of Ransom Drysdale, but I didn’t think he was so volatile.”

“I don’t think anyone did, Benoit,” she said.

His shoulders slumped and he sat back down, resting his elbows on his knees.

“My job was to keep you safe and I failed because I was too obsessed with solving the puzzle to see the razor edges on one of the pieces.”

“Your job was to solve Harlan’s death—not protect me.”

“Well, I was doin’ that bit pro bono.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he decided to just bite the bullet and tell her. “Every night I dream that Ransom pulls a different knife and he…he kills you while I’m standing ten feet away completely inept and useless.” She made a sweet little noise in her throat that Benoit could listen to for hours, and she slipped her hand into his. “I’m not sure I can forgive myself for letting something so terrible almost happen to you.”

“Oh, Benoit. I was never in any real danger.”

“Forgive me for not agreeing,” he said. “If he had grabbed a different knife…it’s all I can see when I sleep.”

Benoit looked miserable. Marta looked confused.

“A different knife? What do you—oh my God,” she gasped. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what, dear?”

“Get up. Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand. Marta dragged him to the library and pulled him over to the chair. “I thought you knew,” she repeated. She took a knife out of the chair and placed it tip down on her palm, forcing the spring-loaded blade up into the handle. Then she did the same with a second and a third. “They’re all fake, Benoit. Any real ones are welded in place.” The color drained from his face and he genuinely felt week in the knees as the implication hit him.

“They’re fake?” he asked. Marta rubbed his arms and nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I honestly thought you knew the whole time. I thought it was part of your grand revelation.”

“You think I’d use you as bait?” Marta winced.

“I didn’t really know you then, and I was not exactly clearheaded that week.”

“I would never put you through something so traumatic as that,” he said.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You were…Benoit, you were my hero.” He scoffed. “I’m serious. If not for you, I would have always thought I’d poisoned Harlan. Do you know what that was doing to me? They would have read that will and the family would have devoured me. You saved me from that.”

“Well, even a blind squirrel sometimes finds a nut.”

“You’re no blind squirrel,” she said.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he mumbled. His hand shook as he pulled a knife and tested the blade. Sure enough, it slipped up into the handle with the slightest pressure. Benoit sighed slid it back in place.

“Think you’ll sleep tonight?” Marta asked.

“I think I could fall asleep standing here.”

“The nurse in me has to advise against that,” she said. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

His head was spinning, and so following Marta’s advice seemed as smart a decision as anything else. Benoit barely registered the creak of the stair and then he was facing his bed. He half sat, half collapsed on the soft mattress and let out a shaky sigh. His shoulders ached and there was a throbbing at his temples.

“A couple asprin?” Marta asked. He nodded and listened as she went across the hall to the bathroom to get the medicine and a glass of water. “Take these,” she said and dropped the pills in his hand. Once he’d swallowed them, she took his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. “Rest, Benoit,” she said. “I’m going to sit here and read a book, okay?”

“You don’t need to—”

“I’d like to be close by, unless you’d rather—”

“Stay. Please.”

Marta sat in the stuffed chair while Benoit slept until it was time for dinner. She decided that he needed sleep more than he needed food, so Marta fixed herself a quick bowl of soup and ate it upstairs. She watched a movie on her iPad with headphones and then cleaned up for bed. She debated where she should sleep for a few minutes but took the quilt off her bed and went back to Benoit’s room. He looked peaceful for the first time since he showed up on her doorstep, and she smoothed the blankets out before laying down on top of them and covering herself up with her quilt.

When he finally began to stir, Benoit felt like he was emerging from underwater. It was the first time he’d slept for more than a few hours at a time and without nightmares in weeks. He turned his head and saw Marta sitting in the chair just like she had been when he drifted off, book balanced on her knees and little concentration lines around her eyes.

“How long have I been out?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Marta smiled and glanced at her watch.

“Oh, about 19 hours,” she said.

“What?” He fumbled for his glasses and cell phone on the bedside table. Sure enough, it was just after 9am the day after he laid down for his nap. Marta laughed as he sat up disoriented and beset by a severe case of bedhead.

“How do you feel?” she asked. He seemed to consider it.

“Why, I feel reborn,” he finally decided. “Must’ve had an excellent nurse,” he said with a wink. Benoit stood and noticed her quilt folded up on the foot of the bed.

“I wanted to keep an eye on you last night,” she said.

“I genuinely cannot thank you enough for your care, Marta.”

“Of course. I’m just sorry you suffered like that for so long for no reason.”

“Well, comes with the territory when you’re a stubborn mule like yours truly.”

“But you’re feeling more like yourself?” she asked. He nodded. “No lingering emotional distress or secret worries vying for your attention.”

“No.”

“Good.” Marta placed her hands on his chest and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his. Benoit froze for a moment, but the minute he responded, she drew a hand up behind his neck and raked her fingernails through his hair. Benoit moaned and deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and placing his hands on her waist. They parted when they were out of breath, but stayed close to one another.

“We’ve been waltzing around that for a couple days, haven’t we?” he whispered into her ear.

“MmHm.” She took his hand and threaded their fingers together. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving,” he said, pulling her in for another kiss.


End file.
